It's Not Over
by SeveRemus
Summary: After Episode 2.13 "Dead Reckoning," both men need to recuperate. Note: Later chapters may be self-censored or not posted due to content.
1. Chapter 1

It's Not Over

* * *

_I try to see the good in life  
But good things in life are hard to find _

_I'll try to do it right this time around - let's start over  
I'll try to do it right this time around - it's not over  
'Cause a part of me is dead and in the ground  
This love is killing me but you're the only one _

_I've taken all I can take and I cannot wait  
We're wasting too much time  
Being strong, holding on  
Can't let it bring us down_

— _Daughtry _

* * *

After Episode 2.13 "Dead Reckoning." **WARNING: Smut ahead!**

* * *

Reese was prepared to die. He had been for a long time, in fact. He was not, however, ready to die knowing that Finch had died with him, trying to save him. So it was with tremendous relief that he heard the cell phone's impersonal tone acknowledging Finch's success and saw the older man's face relax.

Finch had been prepared to die. He obviously preferred not to and had worked feverishly to prevent the bomb from detonating, but that did not negate the fact that he had risked his own life to save Reese's. And Reese was not about to forget that. This was, after all, the second time that the smaller, quieter, seemingly shy and timid man had done so. The reclusive computer genius had proven to have immeasurable reserves of courage, the likes of which Reese had rarely (if ever) encountered — even in all his years of military service.

When an explosion rocked the building, ricocheting through the narrow valley of the street below, Reese remembered for the first time that Mark Snow had been wearing an identical bomb vest. He hadn't been as lucky as Reese; of course he didn't have a guardian angel whose wings were hidden in the names of his many aliases. Reese managed a dry quip, his training kicking in, but the realization that a similar blast would have blown him to bits — leaving law enforcement to identify him only by DNA — roiled in his stomach. The thought that Finch (or whatever his real name was) would have been blown away right next to him... chilled him to the bone.

"Well, while the authorities are distracted with _that_ mess," Finch said, limping back towards Reese after a cursory survey of the chaos below, "let's make ourselves scarce."

"Couldn't agree more," Reese said, watching his partner bend over to pick up the hard drive. A surge of warmth flooded Reese, giving him enough strength to start walking again. He was exhausted, but he was still alive; he could keep moving until they were both safely away from this place.

They rode a service elevator down to the basement level while Finch monitored the police activity by high-jacking the building's security system with his phone. Doubling back up to the ground floor, they hid in an office — after Reese had picked the lock — until all units in the building were outside collecting the wreckage of the car as evidence. They slipped out a back exit and into Finch's awaiting car, where he used his laptop to erase all of the video footage inside and around the building.

"I've uploaded a virus to damage their backup server so they'll blame the explosion for the deleted data," Finch explained while putting his laptop away, then started to drive.

Reese only grunted in reply since he was working on disconnecting the cell phone from the vest. There was a backup fuse, just as he'd expected, but he saw no point in telling Finch about it. Once the detonator was thoroughly removed from the explosives, he allowed himself a deep sigh.

"I'm sure you'll feel better without that _thing_ around your body," Finch observed, not hiding his distaste. "I know I will."

Reese nodded. "Can't wait to get a hot shower."

After a moment Finch asked, "Have you had anything to eat?"

"No."

"I'll drop you off at the apartment before I go get something. I'm afraid at this hour it will be hard to find anything palatable..."

"Anything's fine, Finch. I'm not picky." Reese grinned as though to himself. "I'm just glad to be alive."

Finch acknowledged the remark with a sidelong glance. "As am I, Mr. Reese. Incidentally, it's amazing what an appetite almost being killed can work up." He did not bother to mention that the entire time Reese had been in Stanton's clutches, he had been unable to eat as well.

They rode the rest of the way in silence until Finch pulled up to the curb.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," Reese mentioned as he got out of the car.

"No need, Mr. Reese — I have a key."

"I meant the bathroom door. In case you wanna join me."

The grin he gave Finch then, leaning down into the open car door, was definitely salacious. Finch had to swallow hard before he could answer.

"Enjoy your hot shower, Mr. Reese... or perhaps a cold one would be better."

"Just finding renewed joy in being alive, Harold," Reese told him, then let out a low chuckle and closed the door. He strode into the building, taking the steps two at a time, as Finch drove off in search of palatable food.


	2. Chapter 2

It's Not Over

* * *

Finch ended up calling his hotel to have the 24-hour room service cook some _steak au poivre_, knowing that the kitchen staff was top-notch at all times. They were waiting with his order at the front entrance so he didn't even have to step out of the car. After they had loaded the bag into the back seat, Finch only took a moment to thank Mira and make sure everything was running smoothly before heading back to Reese's apartment. The steaks needed to rest for a few minutes, but he didn't want them get cold, either.

When he arrived at the apartment, he found the glass dinner table strewn with parts from the bomb vest. Not wanting to disturb anything (especially anything explosive) and knowing that Reese was as meticulous about his weapons as he himself was with his algorithms, Finch took the bag into the kitchen to pull the food containers out. He was noting with satisfaction that they were still hot when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up. Reese was standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but his boxers and a towel across his still-steaming shoulders.

"Smells good."

"I thought, given the circumstances, that some beef would help rebuild your stamina," Finch answered drily. "I can't imagine that the fare at Rikers was decent."

"I've had worse," Reese said, stepping closer to watch Finch dish out the food. "This is definitely better."

Finch handed him a full plate before finishing loading his own. "I should hope so. The dining table was already occupied — do you want to sit at the coffee table?"

Reese had already taken a bite of potato, so he spoke with his mouth half full. "Sure. Although I'm afraid I'll fall asleep if I don't keep moving."

"Eat fast, then," Finch ordered. He deftly opened the chilled bottle of merlot, left it to breathe for a moment while he hunted for glasses, and took the filled glasses out to the sofa where Reese was appreciatively chewing his steak. When he handed one to him, Reese raised it in a toast.

"To life, love, and liberty."

"I'll drink to that," Finch agreed, clinking his glass against Reese's before taking a sip. Then he scurried back into the kitchen to grab his plate as well as the containers; he knew Reese would polish off every last morsel before he was done.

The exhaustion on Reese's careworn face was evident to Finch as they ate. The lines around his mouth seemed deeper, the shadows darker, his cheeks pale and drawn. There were multiple cuts and bruises on his body, too, which could have come from any number of physical traumas: the fight in the bank basement, the beating in the prison yard, or the horrific rollover accident in which he had been captured. Finch no longer had an appetite but he forced himself to finish his food, knowing that he needed the energy — he still had the hard drive to analyze as well. When Reese was done and sitting there, contentedly sipping his wine, Finch got up to put their dishes and the containers away. He needed to peel his eyes away from Reese's bare body before he was caught in the act of staring.

However, Reese followed him to the kitchen, coming to stand right beside him as he washed the dishes.

"Harold... Thank you."

"There's no need to thank me, John. I could hardly let you sacrifice yourself without at least trying to help."

"Still... there aren't a lot of people who would've been willing to take that risk. I'm not even sure any of the guys in my old unit would have."

Finch set the clean plates on a rack and wiped his hands with a towel, all the while avoiding meeting Reese's eyes.

"I'm just glad it worked out... this time." Finch needed a place to rest his gaze, so he chose a faded scar on Reese's chest. "The next time, it might not... but regardless of the outcome, I'm glad for the Numbers we've been able to save — the difference we've been able to make so far. Even if I hadn't chosen the right code tonight... I wouldn't have regretted anything."

Reese nodded. "I know. And I can't begin to tell you how glad I am... that one of the Numbers you saved was me."

Finch noticed the scar was growing larger and Reese's husky voice was coming closer. He finally looked up and was mesmerized by Reese's deep-set eyes, which were gazing down at him with an unfathomable depth of emotion. He almost didn't notice that Reese was wrapping him in his arms, drawing him close.

"You've saved my life three times now," Reese continued, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I can never repay you; I owe you everything."

Finch's jaw had gone slack, but he licked his lips nervously and managed to answer, "You don't owe me anything, John... I couldn't have done anything without you..."

As his words trailed off, Finch felt himself drawn up into Reese's steely embrace; before he could fully prepare himself for what was to come, any further comment was cut off by Reese's lips upon his. Warm, soft, and surprisingly gentle, the kiss ended in a moment, but it left Finch breathless.

"Ah... I, uh..." Finch stuttered.

"Stay with me. Please."

Reese's expression was more vulnerable than Finch had ever seen it before, but all he could do was panic.

"I, um... I'm sorry, Mr. Reese, but I, ah... I have to... I need to analyze that hard drive," he said, suddenly remembering. As he drew away from his partner, he patted the object in his pocket. "Have to figure out... what it contained... if it's a virus, or... something worse..."

Reese looked disappointed, but he only nodded again. "All right. I'll talk to you later."

Finch nodded also, curtly, and found that he had been released from Reese's grip. He turned and limped away, not sure whether he was more relieved or disappointed. Reese ambled after him but headed for the bed.

"Oh, and, uh... this goes without saying, I suppose, but, ah... you should take the day off tomorrow. And as many days as you need to, uh... recuperate."

"Thanks, Finch. For everything."

Finch nodded again and hastily exited the apartment. He hobbled down the stairs so rapidly that he was panting by the time he reached his car.


	3. Chapter 3

Finch spent the better part of the night trying to decipher the encryption of the hard drive. He worked feverishly to write a program that would decode the virus, layer by layer, but it would take time for all the layers of the onion to be peeled. When he set his program in motion and sat back, heaving a big sigh, it was already daylight outside. The clock on his computer showed it was a quarter past eight. It was time for Bear's morning walk.

With another part of the computer, Finch called Leon Tao and turned on the speaker/microphone function. After what sounded like the cell phone was dropped on the floor and some muffled swearing, Leon answered.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Tao, I'm pleased to inform you that both Mr. Reese and I have returned safely from our... engagement. I trust Bear is still doing fine in your capable hands?"

"Yeah, we're doing great. I took him to a pet-friendly bar last night, and the chicks were, like, all over me..."

"You took Bear to a _bar?_"

"He loved it! He's a natural. The ladies loved him and I thought for sure this one chick—"

"I would rather not hear the sordid details of your conquests, Mr. Tao," Finch interrupted, "but since you seem to enjoy having Bear as your 'wing man,' as it were, I wonder if I might ask you to keep him for another day."

"No problem, man — I mean, when you dropped him off and said you and John might never be coming back, I had to steel myself for the worst, you know? But I'm glad you're both okay. Really! And Bear's no trouble at all; he and I are best pals now — aren't we, buddy?"

There was a dubious whine at the other end of the line which made Finch's features soften a bit.

"Thank you, Mr. Tao. If you'll excuse me, I've had a rather hectic few days. I do hope to pick Bear up tomorrow morning if that's convenient for you."

"Yeah, okay, tomorrow." Finch could hear a stifled yawn. "Just not too early, okay? I might, y'know... have company over."

"Thank you, Mr. Tao. Good day."

After hanging up, Finch was seized with a tremendous yawn also. He had barely slept during Reese's captivity and had been functioning on overdrive ever since his partner's incarceration. He had only managed to stay focused on his computer monitor due to the insistent need of his curious mind to know for sure whether the code was what he thought it was; now that there was nothing more he could do to help the decryption process along, the strain of the past few days hit him hard. He needed to go home (or one of his many apartments) to get some much-needed sleep. But he also needed to eat something more nutritious than a hot pocket, and he needed to give the Machine a chance to contact him with another Number as well. With a groan he stood up, stretched, and slipped outside onto the city street, heading to a rather good bakery he had found the previous week.

Although he glanced surreptitiously at the pay phones he passed, none of them rang. Finch found his mouth watering and his stomach growling as he thought of the fresh doughnuts and éclairs he hoped to devour soon. Thinking about his breakfast reminded him that Reese, exhausted from stress and physical exertion, could use more nourishment too. The few minutes he spent standing in line at the shop gave him the time to talk himself into revisiting Reese's apartment. The former operative needed breakfast, but he was probably too tired to go out yet, which meant that he would likely skip eating altogether if food was not delivered to him — or, despite the risks involved, he might try to eat whatever had been sitting in his refrigerator since before his last Number. Reese was capable of treating his wounds, but if there were any on his back, he might need help disinfecting them or putting bandages on them. Plus, Finch reminded himself, he could not avoid meeting the operative forever just because things might have gotten awkward between them. That kiss had no doubt been the product of Reese's overwhelming relief at being alive, at being given another chance to make a difference. Like getting back up on the proverbial horse after a fall, if they were to continue their business relationship, both of them would have to get over their embarrassment at what was sure to have been a mistake caused by overwrought emotions — and the sooner the better.

With a box of pastries and a carrier with two hot drinks, one of mild _hojicha_ tea and the other of black coffee, Finch headed to Reese's apartment again.


	4. Chapter 4

When the cab pulled up to the curb around the corner from Reese's building, Finch started feeling some apprehension about entering the loft. _John must be wiped out from his ordeal; he might not appreciate having me barge in there_, he thought, his gait slowing as he approached the entrance. _I'll just slip in and leave him his breakfast and slip back out again. No need to wake him up if he's still sleeping..._

However, Finch was not a master of stealth, and Reese was a master of alertness. As Finch attempted to unlock and turn the doorknob noiselessly, he felt a strange prickling on the back of his neck and looked up to meet Reese's eyes. He was fairly certain that Reese's one hand, under the pillows, was already grasping his gun.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he mumbled, standing in the doorway, "but I've brought you breakfast." He lifted the box and the drink carrier on top of it in a slight gesture, like a peace offering, but he need not have worried. A smile spread across Reese's chiseled features, bringing out the warmth he was so capable of.

"Sounds great," Reese said, then stretched luxuriously — the gun safely tucked away again, Finch noted.

While Finch microwaved their drinks to get them hot, Reese ambled into the bathroom and returned a minute later wearing a terry-cloth robe over his boxers. They settled into the modern sectional couch where they had eaten dinner the previous evening and started devouring the doughnuts with relish.

"Where's Bear?" Reese asked after a few mouthfuls.

"With Mr. Tao. Who, apparently, is enjoying the fact that he gets more attention from the ladies when he has Bear with him."

Reese grunted in amusement over his coffee. "Maybe that's my problem."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I struck out last night because I didn't have my trusty wing man with me."

A look flitted across Finch's face that clearly said, _We're back to that subject, are we?_ But he schooled his expression into one of resolve, cleared his throat, and set his half-eaten éclair down.

"About that, Mr. Reese..."

"You don't have to apologize, Finch. I'm sorry I pushed you too hard too soon — I was just... happy to see you. But if you ever change your mind, the invitation still stands. Always."

Finch swallowed and contemplated the éclair on the table.

"I... appreciate the offer, Mr. Reese. But I think it would be unwise to... get involved in... _any_ sort of way, that might... jeopardize our working relationship, not to mention efficiency—"

"Finch," Reese interrupted, "do you really think what we have is a purely 'working relationship'? Coworkers don't risk their lives to defuse bomb vests, Harold. If all you wanted was a business partner, you should have stayed away like I told you to. But you didn't. You even came to the parking garage, without considering that they might have set a trap for you." Reese paused and waited until Finch finally met his gaze. "We've crossed that line a long time ago, Harold. Both of us. I don't regret it. But you were right last night when you told me to stop wasting time — we never know how much time we've got left. And I'm not going to beat around the bush anymore. I want you. I've wanted you for almost two years now. I'll wait until you're ready, but I'm not going to pretend like I don't have these feelings. If you're uncomfortable with that, I'm sorry, but you know I won't let it interfere with my job."

Finch inclined his head in acknowledgment of that last statement and stared unseeingly at the table for a while.

"I know you will always perform... above and beyond my expectations, John. I just... I don't know what I'd expected... of this relationship." He pursed his lips as he gathered his thoughts. "As is so often the case, people are infinitely more than the sum of their actions. I suppose I expected us to become good working partners, friends at best... but you have exceeded even that. You have become... very dear to me, John. And you know how hard it is for me to trust anyone. I'm just... not sure... how this would _work_."

Reese reached across the table to lay his hand on Finch's, where it rested on his knee.

"It'll work. We'll make it work, Harold." He squeezed Finch's hand gently. "For right now, I'm glad you're here. I'm glad we're alive — that we have the chance to do this right." Reese took a deep breath before saying, "Sleep with me."

When Finch looked up at him with startled, wide-open eyes, Reese's mouth twitched into a lopsided grin.

"Just _sleep_. You look like you've been up all night — and probably the night before. You need to rest, and I'll sleep easier if you're here with me... if I know you're safe. Just... don't think. Just be with me, Harold. That's all I ask."

Finch's mouth had gone dry but he managed to say, "I, uh... I don't have any... um... change of clothes with me..."

"Don't worry about it. You can wear this," Reese said, indicating his bathrobe, "if you don't feel comfortable in just your skivvies. I promise I won't try to put any moves on you if you don't want me to."

Somewhat in a trance, Finch found himself agreeing to these arrangements.


	5. Chapter 5

It was awkward for Finch to strip down in Reese's bathroom, even though Reese had provided him with plenty of hangers for his suit and shirt. It was even more awkward for him to put on Reese's bathrobe which, having been purchased at the big-and-tall department, nearly dragged on the floor when Finch wore it and had also only recently been worn by an almost naked Reese. But it was the most awkward thing Finch could remember ever doing to walk out of Reese's bathroom, wearing nothing but his underwear and Reese's long robe, to approach Reese's bed in which Reese was waiting expectantly, clad only in his boxers. Finch was assaulted by an overwhelming desire to flee, but the resultant picture of himself hobbling down a busy New York street in only the bathrobe made him realize that such an alternative was really no alternative at all. So he slowly limped across the wide floor to where his partner — and so much more — awaited.

"Finch, relax; I'm not going to eat you," Reese told him with an encouraging smile. "Just make yourself comfortable. Do you want to be on this side or the other side?"

"This is fine, Mr. Reese." Finch sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks. Then he gingerly, hesitantly slipped under the covers to lie down. When he became still, he could feel Reese moving behind him, but he was startled when Reese's arms snaked their way around his waist in a snug embrace. Reese's chest was warm against his back, his legs solid where they wrapped around his own.

"John..."

"Goodnight, Harold." The smoky voice in his ear did nothing to calm his heart rate. "Or good day. Sleep tight. And if the bedbugs bite, I'll shoot 'em."

Before Finch could come up with an adequately witty response, he felt a warm, wet kiss being pressed to the nape of his neck, sending shivers up and down his spine and straight into his cock. He gasped and swallowed, but Reese's hold on him did not waver; it was secure without being constricting, tender without being escapable. Finch had no choice but to resign himself to rest in the younger man's arms. Once he had done so, making his body relax under his mind's direction, he discovered that he was actually quite comfortable. Reese's slow, even breathing was like a soothing lullaby, and his warmth was a welcome relief to Finch's stiff hip. Before he even knew it, he was fast asleep.

* * *

Harold was trying hard not to panic and failing miserably. There was a harsh alarm sounding — _Greep! Greep! Greep!_ — and an accompanying red strobe light pulsing while he tried to punch numbers on a keypad with his trembling fingers. Beyond the locked door he could catch glimpses of Nathan, but his friend had his back turned to him and seemed oblivious to the impending danger. Harold shouted at him repeatedly but Nathan continued to work around an antique desk stacked with books, unable to hear his cries or the alarm. Harold thought he knew the lock code but every combination he tried was rejected. In his desperation he was punching in numbers at random now, hoping against hope that one of them would work, that the door would open and let him get Nathan out to safety.

_"Nathan! Nathan! Get out — you have to get out of there!"_ Harold shouted, pounding on the door to get his friend's attention.

"Harold! _Harold!_ It's all right, Harold. Harold, wake up!"

At first he was confused to hear Reese's voice, but with a sudden gasp his vision cleared and he saw Reese's concerned face looking down at him.

"John! I have to... get him out..." Finch rambled, still befuddled and thrashing about.

"It's all right, Harold. It was only a dream," Reese told him in a calm, soothing tone. "You're safe now. I've got you. It's all right."

"Oh! Oh..." Finch gasped, finally getting his bearings. He saw that he was in Reese's apartment — in his bed, in fact. Reese was leaning over him, stroking his bare chest with a large, warm hand. "Oh, I... I'm sorry, I..."

"It's all right. You were just having a bad dream," Reese repeated. He slid his other hand under Finch's back as he lay down again and patted Finch's stomach. "Take a deep breath. You're safe; you can relax."

Finch did as he was told and began to feel more embarrassed than afraid. "I'm sorry... I must have woken you up."

"No, you didn't." Reese smiled before pulling him closer and pressing his lips to Finch's cheek. "I was watching you sleep when your eyelids started to flutter. I tried to wake you up as soon as I realized you were having a nightmare, but it took a while to snap you out of it."

Finch drew another deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to purge the memory and bring his heart rate down. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." There was a pause filled with reflection on both men's parts. "You were dreaming about Nathan?"

Finch grimaced before making a short nod.

"I'm sorry about what happened. I read the newspaper article." Reese combed the curly hair on Finch's chest with his fingers for a moment. "Were you there?"

Finch closed his eyes, feeling a whirl of emotions threatening to engulf him, but answered truthfully: "Yes."

Reese sighed as though he had expected as much. "I'm sorry... The vest... must have dredged up some... painful memories."

Finch opened his mouth, then realized he didn't know what he wanted to say. After licking his lips he finally managed, "I'm just glad I was able to help... this time."

Reese wrapped his arms around his partner and kissed his temple. "That makes two of us."


	6. Chapter 6

In the thoughtful silence that followed, Finch shifted to fit more comfortably in Reese's embrace. Although the furious pounding of his heart had settled down to a throbbing drum, sleep felt impossible now. In his hyper-alert state, everything was noticeable — especially the proximity of Reese's warm body. Finch could not stop focusing on the firmness and heat of the younger man's thighs where they touched his own, protective and possessive. When he felt a separate limb of hardness growing against his leg, he realized that Reese was not about to fall asleep soon, either.

"Sorry," Reese mumbled and moved back a few inches to prevent his XXXX from rubbing against Finch's ass. However, he did not remove his hand from where it was resting on Finch's bare chest. Finch clearly remembered wrapping himself in the bathrobe, even tying the belt; he was still wearing the robe but the belt had either come undone or been untied, and the front was pulled open to leave his middle exposed. The logical conclusion was that Reese had undressed him. Finch simply could not wrap his mind around Reese _wanting_ to touch him, let alone desiring him sexually.

The reverse was quite understandable, of course — it seemed altogether natural for him to be attracted to the tall, dark, and handsome former operative. He had known it would be inevitable from the moment he had found Reese sleeping, clean-shaven, in the cheap motel. But he had forced himself to refrain from acting upon those feelings in the interest of the Numbers. He did not want anything to get in the way of Reese doing his all-important job. He had also wished to avoid any awkwardness and (if he were to be completely honest with himself) the pain of being rejected by Reese, which he considered inevitable.

Now that Reese had declared his feelings, though, Finch knew he had to face a paradigm shift. He also had to admit that Reese was right: they had moved beyond the point of being mere "business partners" long ago. Somewhere along the way, amid flying bullets and stakeouts and rainy days at the movie theater, they had become much more than friends, even. And Reese's performance (from a strictly objective point of view) had, if anything, improved with time.

Feeling the skilled man's warm breath on his neck, Finch could not help wondering if Reese's "performance" in another area was just as good as he had always assumed it would be. There was only one way to find out. Finch was paranoid, but that didn't mean he couldn't be courageous if the occasion called for it.

"John... what do you want from me?" he softly asked.

"Everything," Reese answered after mulling over the question for a moment. "I want you to trust me, Harold... with your body _and_ your heart."

Finch closed his eyes and searched his soul. He already loved Reese; he even trusted him. If he took this step, he might someday know the pain of loss — again. But his heart was yearning, aching for this, for not just human interaction but intimacy in which he could trust completely and love unreservedly. And with a sudden epiphany, he almost laughed aloud.

"I do trust you, John — with everything. I have for some time now..."

Startled, Reese searched Finch's face as if trying to find confirmation of his statement there.

"You do?"

"Yes." Finch smiled. "I love you, John. And I'm ready to take the plunge — to risk my heart on you."

"I won't let you down, Harold. I'll never hurt you..."

"I know." _Not deliberately, you won't_, Finch thought without bitterness. "Just promise me that... you'll try to live. Because if you die, I'll die with you."

Reese's eyes were brimming with emotion, and Finch nearly regretted his words, but he placed a hand against Reese's cheek and forged on.

"I've lost too much already... too many people. I don't think I could recover from losing another. So you must promise me that, whatever happens, you will at least be as careful with your life as you would with mine. Because they are... connected, now."

"Interconnected," Reese amended in a tender whisper. "I couldn't survive without you, either. Harold..."

The kiss was long and sweet, although it became rapacious before it finally ended, leaving both men panting and wanting more. Reese had straddled Finch as they'd grown more passionate. Now he pushed open the bathrobe even further, exposing Finch's mostly bare body, and grasped Finch's engorged XXXX through his briefs. While Finch moaned at having his XXXX manhandled, Reese shoved down his boxers to expose his own XXXX. He fumbled in his effort to slide Finch's briefs down over the bulge but eventually succeeded, then XXXX CENSORED XXXX.

"Oh! John..." Harold moaned. The sensation of having Reese's hand wrapped around his most sensitive member was heavenly; however, Reese had even better things in mind.

* * *

A/N: The next chapter cannot be posted here due to content. Please follow this story on my website, Thea Nishimori dot Word Press dotcom!


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